You Don't Mess Around With Jim
by Almost an Actress
Summary: (This is inspired by Jim Croce's "You Don't Mess Around With Jim.") When Braeburn's precious daughter is threatened by the no-good hooligan Big Jim, this country boy ain't backin' down! (Rated K-plus for mild violence, mention of smoking and shameless flirting.)


You Don't Mess Around With Jim

A young blue Pegasus galloped joyfully down the street. She passed by the Appaloosa Pool Hall and decided to take a forbidden peak inside. She rubbed a circle in one of the dusty, grimy windows. The place was filled with broken down pool tables, a haze of cigarette smoke, and tough-looking male ponies. There were a few mares scattered about, shamelessly flirting with the stallions.

_Ew_, the Pegasus filly thought. _That's sorta gross. What are they doin' smoking? _Her name was Minty Twinkle. She watched though, mesmerized by the older ponies.

There was an especially mean-looking unicorn stallion that caught Minty Twinkle's attention. He was the color of pale, watered-down coffee. He had forest green eyes and a big black Mohawk. He hit a pool ball with his cue and laughed. Minty Twinkle could hear his cruel chuckle from all the way outside. It scared her, and she decided to go home. Just as she turned away from the window and began to trot home, she felt her tail being snatched in a hoof. Suddenly, she was hanging upside down by her tail and looking into the face of the scary unicorn she'd seen before. She flapped her small wings to get away, but the stallion was too strong. Her cowboy hat fell into the dirt.

"Yer a little peeper, eh?" he said cruelly.

"Ah-ah-ah," Minty Twinkle stammered, still trying to get away. "You're scarin' me!" she forced out.

He laughed meanly and gave her a shake. The blood was rushing to her head and her temples pounded. She could feel her heart tumbling and thundering in her chest. Her head wobbled. "L-let me go," she stuttered through his shaking.

He stopped shaking her and smirked. "Yer the peeper, eh kid? What's your name, girl?"

"Minty Twinkle!" she said as boldly as she dared.

"What a pansy name," he snorted. "D'ya know who I am kid? Dontcha know that peekin' in to pool rooms is bad luck?"

"No," she whimpered.

"T'which question?" the unicorn inquired. He shook her again, harder this time.

"B-b-both!" she cried. "Lemme go, mister!"

"Th' name's Big Jim Walker! The toughest pony in Appaloosa! Don't you forget it, girl!" With that, he dropped the now-sobbing filly in the dust and ambled away.

Her cowboy hat was rumpled and dirty, but she put it on anyway. She ran down the street, sobbing her young heart out. She ran into her house, screaming, "Daddy! Daddy!"

"Dear?" a southern voice asked. Her father, known as Slim, came around the corner. He was sporting a black eye from a previous fight with a nare-do-well named Big Jim. Slim's real name was Braeburn, but most ponies called him Slim because he didn't eat much but apples. He saw his precious daughter, slightly scratched up. That didn't worry him; she was always getting into trouble. Not even the fact that she was weeping. It was her cowboy hat. It was usually pristine and white, but now it was stained and rumpled. Mint never let it get like that!

"Daddy!" she sobbed. "I… He… Big Jim."

"What?!" Braeburn cried, aghast. His hear hardened at the mention of the one who had given him a black eye. HOW DARE HE LAY A HOOF ON HIS DAUGHTER?!

Minty Twinkle related the whole story through hiccups and sobs.

"Don't worry, darlin'. Ah'll do somethin' about that… that… fiend." Sure, he could go to the police, but this was personal. With that, he plunked his daughter down in front of the TV and cantered towards the Appaloosa Pool Hall.

As he ran, he thought about when he'd first come to Appaloosa. He'd been a country boy from south Alabridle. Everyone had called him Slim. He chuckled without humor and realized he was at the Pool Hall. He took a calming breath and slammed the door open. "JIM!" Slim roared.

It was all he needed to say.

The unicorn looked up. "Oh, is the Earth pony here for round two?"

"Ya'll know what this is about," Slim snarled.

"What is it about, _Braeburn_?"

"It's _Slim_!" Slim growled. "Ya'll jumped me last week and took all my money. It may sound funny, but ah've come t'get my money back. And there's one more thing. Ya'll hurt my daughter."

"That brat was yers?" Big Jim snorted. "She's a Pegasus. How's that with an Earth pony papa?"

Slim winced. Not just because of Big Jim calling his daughter a "brat," but because of the memory of his dear Pegasus wife. _Rest her soul_, he thought. Her name had been Shining Cloud. He shook his head. "Don't bring m'wife up," he snarled, but it was a weak snarl. He was sad now.

"Whatever. Yer kid's a brat. Lookin' into my pool game like that! I gave that brat a good talkin'-to!" Big Jim laughed.

"Oh, that's it!" Slim growled with renewed vigor. He'd seen that Minty Twinkle had been pretty scraped up. He hadn't just talked to her. He'd probably roughed her up a bit. Slim leaped on the big pony.

Not to get into the gory details, but when the fighting, shooting, scratching, biting, cutting, yelling, pummeling, punching, kicking, and tussling was done, the only part of Big Jim Walker that wasn't bloody were the bottoms of his hooves. He was scratched and cut in about a hundred places, and shot in a couple more.

Braeburn- otherwise known as Slim – placed a victorious hoof on Big Jim's head and forced it to the floor. He leaned close to his now-torn ear. "And that's how we do it- Appaloosa style." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Nah, strike that, partner. That's how we do it Slim style." With that, he took his cash out of Big Jim's wallet, set the wallet back down, and turned to go. Then he turned back. "Now wait a minute. Ah belive that when a fight is won, the victor gets t'take the loser's cowboy hat. But ya don't have one on, partner. So ah'll do this…" He took Jim's saddle, obviously a prized possession, and put it on his own back. "Minty'll get a kick outta this. Remember Mr. Big Ol' Jim: ya don' mess around with Slim."


End file.
